The Perfect Boyfriend (Has Batteries)

A LinkedIn pal invited me to her ultra conservative book club and I was thrilled to attend.

I read the book selection, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot, as thoroughly as I could.

But I wasn't invited to the book club to discuss Immortal Life, I was invited to talk about my life with B.O.B., you know, my Battery Operated Boyfriend that I've been dating exclusively for some time now.

One of the silver-haired club members, let's call her Mary, caught a glimpse of me discussing B.O.B. on television, and she wanted to know more about him.

"How did the two of you "meet?" Was your real fellow a terrible lover?"

I removed my coat, introduced myself to the group, and then shamefully explained that the PlayStation stole my lover.

I explained that, years ago, my ex bought a PlayStation game and our love life took a hit. Our tender moments were replaced by Madden NFL, and whatever else he'd play until the wee hours of the morning.

A turning point in our relationship occurred when I served his favorite dinner in stilettos. Boy did my ego die that day -- my sweetie didn't even hit the pause button.

B.O.B. and I hit it off instantly, and we're still madly in love. Most important, B.O.B. prevents me from crossing the line with those sexy, conniving males.

As a working journalist, B.O.B. comes in handy on those occasions when I must interview handsome men. I can get a great interview, dodge a subject's shameless flirting, and then race home to B.O.B.

And B.O.B is never dull. All that is required is AA batteries and my imagination, and B.O.B. can be anyone that I want him to be, from an international sex symbol to a sexy Facebook friend. Ha! Joy without drama. =0)

I must admit that our union hasn't been without its challenges, however, like, say, my desire to have children in the future.

B.O.B. isn't a perfect travel buddy, either, as TSA workers tend embarrass the hell out of me by interrogating me about B.O.B. Once, a male TSA worker confiscated my brand new B.O.B. because I forgot to remove the tester batteries and B.O.B. vibrated on the conveyor belt. Imagine how small I felt when the agent bellowed: "WHAT IS THAT?!"

These days, I just fork over the extra $25 to check my luggage.

I've found that men tend to hate on B.O.B., and that makes dating difficult for ladies like myself.

My girlfriends have told me their horrendous "Kill B.O.B." stories as their men have threatened to break B.O.B, or hide B.O.B., or throw him out. (At least one Illinois lady allegedly threatened to have her B.O.B. kick a cop's behind!)

It's outrageous that men demand that we toss B.O.B. to the curb when we enter a relationship with them.

I suspect that some men are intimidated by B.O.B. because they don't understand B.O.B.'s role. B.O.B. isn't a man replacement, so to speak, he's just the trusted lover on the side.